Parker Luck
by BisonMan
Summary: That old Parker luck, eh? Even when he's beat the bad guy, Spider-Man of the MCU can't catch a break. Whether it's missing the dance to stop Birdm- I mean, the Vulture, stopping someone from trying to unlock their own car, or being thrust through dimensions, Peter Parker always gets the short straw.
1. That Ain't Supposed to Happen

Peter dropped Adrian to the ground before flopping down beside him. When the Vulture had almost blown himself up, he couldn't bring himself to let the villain die. After all, the man was only resorting to crime to provide for his family.

The wreckage of the plane burned slowly around them. As they lay there, Peter gripped his shoulder. Toomes had given him quite the beating in his wingsuit, and, even with his enhanced healing, he would have to take it easy for a couple days. He was just lucky to be alive, losing count of how many times he had nearly died that night.

Once he felt he could move without too much pain, he stood up and picked up his mask from where he had dropped it. Picking it up, he slipped it into his pocket. It wouldn't do him any good to get spotted with it off. With that out of the way, he dragged the Vulture over to a pile of undamaged crates and webbed him to it with his remaining web fluid. Scribbling a quick note to Happy, he stuck it right next to Adrian's face.

The man had been quiet the entire time he had done this, resigned to his fate. Peter honestly wasn't expecting this. He had expected the man to put up more of a fight. Not that he wasn't glad, there was only so much he could take.

A sudden smaller explosion shook the beach, knocking Peter off his feet. Stumbling to his feet, he glanced out across the flaming sand. One of the many crates was glowing a weird, multicolored light and pulsing rhythmically. Not only that, it was making his spider-sense go crazy. Being the firm watcher of movies that he had been growing up, that usually meant something was going to explode.

He had two options.

The first, was that he could drag Adrian and his pallet of crates away from the box. A quick calculation derailed that suggestion. He had webbed the villain's legs to the ground. His own home recipe was quite time consuming for even him to tear through, and time wasn't an asset that was on his side.

That left option two, the one he liked the least. This one involved him moving the crate away from Toomes. While it involved a lot more personal risk, it was also the safest for the Vulture. In his prime, he was confident he could get it out of the way and still have time to escape. But, with all the hits he had taken earlier, his confidence had taken quite the dip.

' _Come on, Pete! You're wasting time!'_

Listening to his subconscious, Peter hobbled over to the crate. The dull throb in the base of his skull increased in intensity the closer he got to it. When he was right next to it, it felt as if someone had taken a jackhammer to his cranium. He ignored the pain, however, and grabbed the metal box with both hands.

At the contact, the crate began shaking violently. A bright flash overtook his vision before everything went black.

 **Alright, so I know this is a little out there with how he gets to Remnant, but I thought it made sense. The plane was filled with old Avengers stuff, so why can't one of Thor's old Asgardian relics transport him there. I mean, it makes as much sense as some of the other stories I've read.**

 **I know this is short, but I wanted to see if yet another Spider-Man story would take off. I'm basing it off the Homecoming Spider-Man just so I get a clean slate. That way, I can do lots of his most iconic moments in this story.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this little chunk.**


	2. No Remnant of Hope Left

When he awoke, Peter instantly knew something was wrong. Rain pelted his unmasked face as he lay on a hard, stone surface. The sky was pitch black, the moon behind heavy cloud cover. Rolling to his right, he nearly fell off the edge of whatever he was laying on. His eyes peered down upon the cars driving by not thirty feet below. The only thing that kept him from falling was his wall-crawling. Peter pulled himself back up quickly.

Sitting up slowly, he glanced around at his surroundings. Instead of New York City's familiar skyline, he saw the medium-sized stone buildings of some unknown city. Even if it wasn't New York, he was able to recognize most famous cities by sight. He was a nerd, afterall. This one was completely unfamiliar to him.

This was the first bad sign.

Peter pulled out his phone, rubbing the droplets of rain off the cracked screen. It miraculously hadn't been crushed during his fight with the Vulture and was still within working order. Opening up his GPS app, he checked where he was. Or, at least, he tried. There was no signal, and that, with him being in the middle of a bustling city, didn't help ease his fears.

That was the second sign.

He closed out of the program before opening up his messages. Tapping on Happy's name, he quickly started a new message.

"Hey, Happy," he mumbled under his breath, mirroring the text on-screen. "It's Peter. I hope you got my note. What exactly was in the cargo plane? One of the crates exploded and teleported me somewhere. Get back to me soon. Please."

Sending it, he put his phone to sleep conserve battery. Sure, there wasn't a signal right now, but once he got one, the message would be sent quickly. Now with that done, he could start to figure out where he was.

' _Alright, so you're in a city you've never seen before without cell service. That's okay. Next to what you've done, this is child's play. Just gotta find out where I am, then I can phone for help.'_

A dull throb at the base of his skull kept him on his toes. His spider-sense was not something to be ignored, having saved his life many times before. The fact that it was continuously pulsing didn't sit well with him.

Third sign.

After doing one last check over his body for any mortal wounds that might need attending to, Peter slipped on his mask and dove off the building. His trip couldn't take too long, he didn't have enough web fluid to last him forever. Before he could worry about his webbing though, he had to find a dry set of clothes or hypothermia would become a real problem.

"Man," Peter said to himself, swinging between two buildings. "I wish I had my new suit right now."

If he had Mr. Stark's creation, he probably wouldn't even be in this mess. Karen was an extremely useful asset, and would have already figured out where on Earth he was. The unique fabric of the suit was not only water resistant, it could also dry him in a second.

The city was still bustling at this time of night. People walked down below him, carrying umbrellas to protect themselves from the elements. Honestly, he was just surprised no one had noticed him yet. Usually, the man in red and blue pajamas was pretty distracting to your common pedestrian. There was too much hustle and bustle for him to drop down to street level. After his incident on the ferry and general rumors that had been spread around, he wasn't too sure about his public image. He did almost get shot at the Washington Monument, after all.

Firing another web line, he swung into a dark alleyway behind a brick building. Landing easily, he stood up and stretched. The space between the two buildings was safe from the downpour thanks to the overhanging roof. It was also out of sight from all the traffic on the busy roads, giving him a perfect spot to assess the situation.

Glancing around his surroundings, a grin spread across his face when he spotted a rusty dumpster nearby. Peter walked over to it and lifted the lid off. A wave of pungent odors assaulted his nostrils as he peered inside. Among the half-eaten pieces of food and other garbage, were dry clothes. Years of dumpster diving immediately clued him into the best pieces. There was a ratty pair of sneakers, torn jeans, a faded blue flannel, and a threadbare backpack. They were all covered in food stains and probably had been there a while, but he was too wet to care. Wiping off a couple of the stains, he pulled the clothes from the dumpster.

Peter did a quick check of his surroundings, making sure it was clear. Once he was confident, he began to change out of his soaking costume. Tossing the wet garment into the bag, he quickly tugged on the jeans, shoes, and shirt. The dry clothing instantly dried him, sponging up the remaining droplets on his skin. Closing his eyes, he quietly thanked whatever deity, magical or alien, granted him such fine apparel.

Finally geared up, he quickly stepped out into the street. Right away, he was swept away by the tide of people. Being a native of Queens had prepared him for the large crowd, and he quickly began moving with the flow. The uneven distribution of umbrellas provided limited protection from the rain.

The people around him didn't really clue him into where he was. They were of all ethnic diversities and body types. Not even their clothing was of similar design. He saw anything from trench coats to dresses to bomber jackets to t-shirts. Nothing contained itself to one singular style.

His spider-sense increased in intensity by a small fraction. Not large enough to be taken into account immediately, but just enough to the point where he noticed. Something about this place just felt… off.

As he moved along, Peter scanned for a newspaper stand. They always had the name of whatever city they were published in and could perhaps shed some light on his situation. It would help so much to know what part of the globe he was on.

A dull, green newspaper vending machine suddenly caught his eye. It was sitting all by itself on a busy street corner, containing only a couple copies of newspapers. He did a mental fist pump when he saw no device for collecting money. Peter had left his wallet at school, figuring he wouldn't need it while fighting Toomes. Quickly moving over to it, he read the large bold words on the side.

' _The Vale Gazette… never heard of it.'_

Opening the case, he pulled out a copy. Afraid to get it wet, Peter moved to a nearby bus stop. The bench that sat there was covered in a thin awning, allowing him to read the paper without it getting it soaked. By the light of a streetlight, he began to read.

Many unrecognizable names were spread through the newspaper. There were mentions of a group called the White Fang, a terrorist group causing widespread panic. They were made up of a radical group of people named the Faunus (Peter had never heard of that nationality) who were discriminated against and treated unfairly. Names of places like Atlas, Vacuo, Mistral, and Vale (Apparently the city he was currently in) were completely unknown to him.

Peter's sense of dread that he had felt since the beginning suddenly came to the front. There wasn't a single recognizable pronoun in there. Factoring this in with his spider-sense still going off, and Peter was having very bad feelings about all of this.

Rolling up the newspaper, he stuffed it into his backpack. He obviously wasn't going to learn anything useful by reading it, so he might as well find somewhere to spend the night.

He was about to stand up, when the rain suddenly let up around him. Turning towards the sky, he watched as the clouds parted from in front of the moon.

His last dregs of hope were shattered in that single moment.

The moon was broken. The entire right side of it had been blasted off, the debris just sort of sitting there. Other than the fact that it looked like the Death Star after Luke was done with it, it appeared to be relatively the same.

' _No, no, no, this can't be right. This all has to be a dream!'_

That idea went bust when he pinched himself.

Mind racing, Peter tried to come up with other logical explanations to why the moon was broken. He ran all the possibilities through his brain, eliminating each unlikely answer that came to him until he was left with just three possible scenarios.

One, the explosion had teleported him to another planet.

This was the weakest of the three, seeing as this planet appeared nearly identical to his own. The probability of him being transported to a celestial body just like Earth was incredibly slim. Also, from what he knew of sci-fi (which was a lot), explosions didn't teleport. If he had fallen through a portal, he would be more inclined to pick this option.

Two, the blast had knocked him through time.

Peter wasn't too sure about this one either. If the moon had indeed been blow up on Earth, there was literally no way all the pieces would be broken up, but stay in the planet's orbit. At least half the broken chunks would've have fallen to the surface. The planet's gravity just didn't work that way. Also, he was pretty sure he would get cell service in the future.

Three, he was now in a different dimension.

Of all the far-fetched and crazy situations he had imagined, this one almost seemed the most sane at this point. An alternate version of Earth where the moon had been blown up? A couple years ago, he wouldn't have even considered it. But with everything that happened in New York, London, and Sokovia, he had become a lot more open minded.

That didn't mean he was going to jump to conclusions, however. There was no solid evidence except the moon to support his theorizing. Peter elected to worry about it in the morning, seeing as he was already dead tired.

Any of these answers at least explained why his spider-sense had been going off. Apparently, it didn't like the fact that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Thankfully, it felt as if though the throb was fading, his sense probably getting used to the situation.

Standing up, he slowly began walking again. He had no destination in mind, he just had to find somewhere to spend the night. At least the rain had stopped, so he wouldn't be soaked again.

His eyes scanned the buildings, looking for some place that could provide him shelter. Nothing appeared helpful, all he saw were storefronts and parking garages. For half an hour he wandered, barely awake.

At long last, he came upon the abandoned shell of a car. It was sitting just inside an alleyway in the impoverished side of the city. The doors had been torn off and it was covered in a thick layer of rust. He glanced inside and was happy to find that the seats were still mostly intact, save for a couple slashes and cuts.

Peter was so tired that as soon as he fell down upon the cushions, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Cracking open his eyes, Peter untangled himself from his backpack. Bright beams of sunlight had pierced through the car's open doors and woke him up.

He clambered out of the car, moving slowly as not to aggravate any of his injuries that may not healed. Once he was free from the steel frame, however, he moved about with little discomfort. Turns out, all he really needed was a good night's rest to get rid of most of the broken bones and cracked ribs.

With a large yawn, he unzipped his backpack and pulled out his costume. It had dried somewhat from last night, only containing a fraction of the dampness it used to have. Stripping down, he began to pull the costume one. Web swinging was infinitely faster and more mobile than walking and would allow him to find out more information on where he was. Plus, he could maybe even helps some people out on his way around.

Before he could get started, however, he did a quick check on his web fluid situation. Last night's short trip had drained his small amount even more. Doing a rough calculation, he guessed he had around four or five hours worth, if he rationed it well.

"Note to self," he muttered, slipping on his mask. "Find a place to make more web fluid."

All suited up, he quickly scaled the wall of the building beside him. It was five stories, a perfect place to start his trip. At the top, Spider-Man fired off a web line, before swinging off into the city.

* * *

It didn't take long for him to find trouble. Or, as Aunt May liked to say, for trouble to find him.

A young lady was getting mugged by two thugs in ski masks. Each one of them carried a blunt weapon, the shorter of the two wielding a crowbar while his friend used a baseball bat. They had backed her into a deserted alleyway, completely out of sight from the street. His enhanced hearing allowed him to hear the struggle though.

"Alright, lady, give us the money and you don't have to get hurt." the one with the baseball bat said, giving it a threatening swing.

"Hey!" Spider-Man called, swinging into the alleyway. "What's going on here? Because to me, it looks like a mugging. Is that what's happening?"

Both men turned to him and froze. Their eyes scanned his body in the suit, before they both busted out laughing. Spider-Man sighed and waited for them to finish. This was just like the first time he had donned his superhero persona. Nobody took him seriously.

"Listen, pajamas," Crowbar said, wiping a tear from his eye. "If you walk away and pretend like nothing happened, I'll let you off the hook."

The web head turned to the lady. "You are getting mugged, right?"

The woman just stared at him in disbelief. Crossing his arms, the wall crawler motioned for her to go on. After a brief glance at the two thugs, she gave a small nod.

"Enough fooling around," Bat growled, clearly growing impatient. He walked menacingly towards Spider-Man with his baseball bat on his shoulder. "I'm gonna mug you to-"

He didn't get to finish as the wall crawler webbed the man's weapon and smacked him in the head with it. The thug dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, out cold.

"Yerrrrrrrr outta there!" he yelled, mimicking an umpire.

Crowbar watched with mouth open at the kid who just took out his friend with little effort. The man's eyes narrowed and he readied his own blunt object. Spider-Man grinned underneath his mask. This was what he needed. A way to let loose and relax his mind for a bit before figuring out what to do.

The thug swung his crowbar right at Peter. Easily ducking under the blow, he grabbed the weapon and sighed.

"Come on, man," he said. "That's not what you use a crowbar for! It's used for opening crates!"

His eyes blinking in surprise, the man loosened his grip on the weapon. That was the opportunity Peter needed to slug him across the jaw with his right fist. The man went spinning to the ground, out cold.

Webbing the two criminals to the wall, he turned to the lady. "Sorry about that, I just wanted to make sure what was really happening was happening. One time, I beat up this guy trying to get into his own car. Now that, was embarrassing."

"Thank you so much for saving me," she said, opening up her purse and rummaging through it. "Is there anything I can give you in return?"

Spider-Man quickly began waving his hands. "No, no, no! I don't do this for money. But, there is one thing you can do for me..."

The woman seemed to grow nervous at this and took a cautious step backwards.

Lenses widening, Spidey smacked his forehead. "I didn't mean anything like that, I swear! I just wanted to know if you would call the cops to pick up these two bozos."

"Oh," she said, relaxing. "Sure. It's just the way you worded it gave me a negative connotation."

With a small laugh, he waved her off. The screw up was more on his behalf, anyway. He turned to leave, ready to go swinging off into the city. The woman grabbed his arm before he left though. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he waited patiently.

"Who are you?"

"Does the spider mark not give it away?" he asked, pointing to his chest. "I'm your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!"

With his piece said, Spider-Man leapt out of the alley to look for more crime.

* * *

After many long hours, he had finally found it. The red brick building with the words "Vale Public Library" scrawled across the front. It had taken him way longer than he would've like to locate it, running his web fluid to the very bottom. Another hour and he would've been completely out.

It didn't help his webbing situation that this city seemed to have more crime than even New York. Every couple of streets, he would come across a mugging, a bank robbery, or some other kind of illegal act. At one point, he began using the weapons of the criminals he caught to restrain them

Peter had considered what his best option for information would be. His first thought immediately went to the internet, but he didn't have any device that could connect him to it. That knocked that idea off pretty quickly.

Books were next on his list. Sure, they were slower than the web, but they could still provide him accurate information. The only problem was finding a library. In his entire search through the city that day, he had only managed to find one. Peter had changed into his civilian clothes for his planned expedition.

Pushing the double glass doors open, the young man entered the library. Though it didn't appear that big on the outside, there was a huge number of books fit into the small space. Row upon row of textbooks, encyclopedias, journals, and more were crammed into every available spot. A rather old man sat at a small desk, reading a dusty old journal.

He walked up to the desk and gave it a small knock. The man glanced up and gave Peter a kind smile. His blue eyes were framed behind a pair of round spectacles. There were wispy white hairs scattered sparsely on his head. His wrinkled face was free of any facial hair.

"How are you doing today?" the old man asked, setting down his book. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Peter nodded. "Pretty good, thank you. I was wondering where your history textbooks were. Could you point me in the right direction?"

"Sure thing. Just find the row labeled Q-R. Remnant's history should be somewhere down there. If you're looking for a particular kingdom, start with their name. That's usually the best place to find them. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Thanking the kind man, Peter walked to the suggested row.

' _Remnant. Well, at least I've got a name of this place.'_

Upon entering the row, he began to look for the man's suggestion. It took him around five minutes to find what he was looking for. Volumes like _Remnant, The History of Remnant,_ and _Remnant's History For Dummies_ were just a few of the books he grabbed off the shelf.

Near the back of the library, he found a small, circular table surrounded by comfy-looking armchairs. Dumping his pile of books onto the surface, he settled himself down into the cushions and began to read.

* * *

 **And curtain. I don't really have a lot to say, so...**


End file.
